Andrias's Birth, Part 4 -- The babymoon

The first week was delicious.  By midwife's orders, I was on bed rest.  Baby and I spent all of our hours together.  We slept, we snuggled, we nourished ourselves.  I breathed in the scent of his new skin and stroked him.  There is no touch like that of newborn skin; there's nothing smoother or softer.  He spent his first several days naked, wrapped in blankets or wool sacks. No diaper to squish his bottom into.  No forcing his arms and legs into tiny clothes.  And he never left the room.  So there was no wrestling this tiny, fragile frame into the straps and buckles of a car seat or exposing him to the harsh elements of the outdoors.  No swirling cacophony of people, places, lights, sounds, and smells to fill his senses.  Only calm, only us.

When we slept, he wriggled his way to my breast, latched himself on and fed.  Breastfeeding has been so easy this time.  Painless and easy.  And when he pooped, I held him in my arms and put a little bowl or blanket under him to catch it.  The beginnings of EC, and it went really well.  On day four, I caught four poops.  I knew him, his rhythm, and his body language already. 

Everything was easy, and so natural.  Effortless.  I felt myself naturally become Mother in a way I never had with my first. 

At night, Baby slept, skin-to-skin with either George or myself.  Regin slept with us too.  And something strange happened to him that first night that became more and more obvious that first week:  he grew about 3 feet and gained about 20 pounds.  George laughed about the teenager that was suddenly in our bed.  Our little one had become our big one, relatively speaking anyway.

Regin loved his brother right away.  We had to hold him back a little from smothering the tiny infant with his kisses.  And in their sleep the two brothers kept drifting towards each other, trying to snuggle.  We tried to keep them separate early on, because we were worried that Regin would be rough in his sleep.

Everything was easy, except for the little matter of his name.  We'd chosen three candidates, but when Baby Boy arrived, we didn't agree on the name.  I leaned towards one of the Faroese names, Andrias, George leaned to the Spanish name, Eliseo. We waffled on it for several days, and on her check up visits, our midwife, Sena, reminded us that she needed to send in paperwork with the name by about a week.  My pull to my cultural heritage made me want to choose Faroese, plus his hair was light and reddish, like a viking!  But it was only fair to give George the choice, since I'd made the final call on Regin's name.  So, at around 6 days old, Baby lived with the name Eliseo for a day.  We told my mom and I was surprised to hear her highly linguistic tongue absolutely struggle with the name.  Then I began to feel more and more guilt over not passing on my culture to him.  Latin culture, after all, is so prevalent in the world, but there are only 50,000 people in the world that call themselves Faroese.  Plus Regin had such a lovely story to go along with his name.  So, we decided to switch back.  Andrias it was.  Sorry George.  Eliseo is a wonderful name.  We told everyone else his new name, and it seemed we made the right choice.  Even my mother-in-law had negative associations with the name Eliseo, the only person who preferred it was my dad, who still thinks Andrias sounds like a girl's name.  Haha!  Well, that's why family wasn't invited to be involved in the naming process!

The story behind Andrias's name?  Other than just being a Faroese name we both loved, it's also one of my grandfather's nine names.  He was named after the crew of a boat from his village that all died at sea.  His name was Oli Hans David Frederic Andrias Guttorm Elias Mellamgord Jacobsen and his named wrapped all the way around the back of his driver's license.  He's also one of my favorite people who has ever lived, an artist, a teacher, a giver of deep, warm hugs, and I miss him.

Andrias's middle name is Micael after my father, Michael. Who is also wonderful and thankfully still with us.

I've been surprised to find that his name is difficult for some to pronounce, so once again it's:  Ahn-DREE-ahs Mee-kah-ELL.  And for those who don't know, big brother's first name (Regin) is pronounced RAY-ihn, I assume you all know what to do with his middle name, Oscar?

---

During my week of rest, my mom and George were both there taking care of me.  Sena made several house calls to check on me and the baby.  That's another thing I love about home birth and midwifery.   There's so much respect for the mother's recovery process and baby's need for calm, quiet, and being left in the comfort of home with the mother.  I think Andrias was 6 weeks old before he really needed to venture outside of the home (by car). 

I stayed mostly in our bedroom, lying down. Occasionally I'd venture out to the loft to sit and watch a show with the others.  But the pain of sitting was intense.  My tailbone and all was extremely sore.  We bought me a donut to sit on, but it was still unbearable and I mostly stayed reclined. After a week, my body began bouncing back already, though I still took it easy, and at that time my mother left just as George's mother arrived in time to celebrate George's birthday.  He had a very special birthday present this year, one I worked really hard on!

Andrias's Birth, Part 3 -- The birth

Monday, February 8th.  I had consistent contractions all through the night.  They were frequent and rhythmic enough to make me think they might be the real deal.  I felt them through my sleep.  But they weren't the least bit painful (hypnobabies working?) so I wasn't sure if I should call my midwife.  By morning they had stopped.  Turns out, I had actually been listening to my hypnobabies tracks all night, and I believe I accidentally listened to the "Baby Stay In" track too.  OOPS!  Maybe Andrias was trying to come Tuesday morning!

By Wednesday night, I was worried that the baby was going to prove my prediction wrong that he'd come 1-2 weeks early.  Can't have that!!  He only had one day left!  So I went for a walk and did what you do to request that baby come out now.  I even asked the baby directly.  Baby, I love you, and it's time now.  I'm ready and I want you to come.

At 4a.m., Thursday the 11th, I woke up to pee.  Things were a little... shall we say... moist.  Then in the bathroom, there was a... um... gush.  And when I stood up, another, and tried to walk out, another... I made it over to George, woke him and quickly asked him to call our midwife before I ran back to the bathroom in time for several more gushes.  I guess that would be my water breaking! (It didn't break until baby came out the first time.)

George handed me the phone and Sena, my midwife, asked all sorts of detailed questions before asking me if I was having any contractions. 

"No," I sighed.

I knew what that meant.  The clock was ticking now.  I had 24 hours to make serious progress or I'd have to transfer to the hospital.  Sigh.  She told me to go back to bed and sleep as much as I could.  I went and laid down and popped on the hypnobabies tracks on my iPhone.  Within minutes I was having a contraction.  Then... another.  I knew it could be a while till I was in 'real' labor, so I tried to relax through them and sleep.  But I didn't sleep and they kept coming.  I finally woke George up again at 6 to time them.  Yep.  One minute long, five minutes apart.  Things were rolling!

We called Sena, we texted my sister JoAnn who we'd asked to be present to handle food prep for all of us, and to entertain and possibly remove Regin if needed.  George went and woke my mom up and told her the haps.  And guess what?  I decided I no longer cared about the number of people in the house, and we asked my mom to stay.  Funny how things change when you're in the moment but I knew that was a possibility and I felt strong in my right to make that decision.

The timeline after that was a blur.  We have no clock in our room, and I was in full labor, so I never left the room.   In the first hours, it was manageable.  I would walk and walk and then when another contraction hit, I would drape myself over George and we'd stand there together as he coached me through relaxation. 

I tried listening to the Hypnobabies tracks, but there was enough commotion and distraction that I didn't really hear or listen to them.  I couldn't really put myself into hypnosis every time because I hadn't practiced the unguided hypnosis enough.  And what I had practiced was mostly with me being totally alone, fully reclined, in total silence with hardly any sensory input.  I couldn't get myself in that state in the throes of labor, so I relied solely on George's ability to help me relax, which we had practiced several times during the Hypnobabies course.  And it really worked.  Unlike my friend Teddi, who had managed to get all the practices in, I would absolutely describe it as pain, but the pain with George's relaxation cues was manageable, without them I thought I was going to die.  He had a script he recited, and he'd begin reading it every time I indicated that a contraction hit.  If he delayed even by a few seconds, it wouldn't really work and I'd be in tremendous, earth-shattering pain again.  For some reason, if I lay down, I was in the worst pain of all, and if I sat, it was pretty darned uncomfortable too.  So I, the woman who had spent most of her pregnancy sick in bed with various colds and flus, the one who'd had trouble eating for months, the girl who was terribly weak and generally out of shape, walked miles in a circuit around our bedroom for hours and hours, stopping every few minutes for an intense workout called a "contraction". 

You know, in hypnobabies, you avoid use of the word contraction because of the fear and pain pregnant women associate with the word.  But when you look at the word after having birthed, it doesn't seem strong enough.  It sounds like little squeezes, like the painless, prelabor contractions I had that I called "The Squeezies" or like a bicep you're flexing and then releasing.  It doesn't remotely convey the pain, the sweat, the grunting, the moaning, the crying out, the howling, the begging, the pleading that it induces when you have one.  But that came later.  In the early hours, I was able to face each contraction, with George's help, calmly, quietly, internally, and relaxed.  It was intimate and graceful, though still painful.  My mom downstairs thought we were sleeping that whole time because it was so unbelievably quiet.

When my midwife, Sena, arrived, labor changed.  That happens.

As hands off as midwives can be, there is still a kind of performance pressure a birthing woman feels, or at least this birthing woman felt, when someone shows up to watch you and make sure things are happening as they should.

The way a midwife makes sure is very different from how a doctor would make sure, or so I've been told as I've never birthed with a doctor's assistance.  A doctor will make you undress and put on the infamous and barely there gown (and why they should call something so ugly a 'gown' I'll never know, some marketing spin there I think), then you'll be connected to machines, monitored with boops, beeps, and moving graphs, and your feet put up in stirrups while the doctor looks at you and gives you internal exams to see where the baby is and how dilated your cervix is.  I think in most cases during labor you're not allowed to eat or drink.  The doctor also has a lot of other patients to see, so he's off checking on other moms a lot, or if there's some other conflict, you have a different doctor.

Your midwife, is your midwife.  Obviously conflicts can occur, but she schedules very few births per month to try and eliminate the possibility.  And you've been seeing this woman, and not her nurse practitioner or other assistant (in typical US, assembly-line medical care), for 1+ hours once a month, then twice a month, then once a week throughout the pregnancy.  You know each other so well, she's almost like family by the time baby comes.

At that time, the midwife comes in (to your home) when you've told her you'd like her to come (or the birth seems imminent), sets up her equipment around your room, puts her oxygen tank over there, rearranges your nest to include her bag of tools in easy to reach places over here, makes sure she knows where you have put the towels and basket of birthing goodies you've gathered, and then asks you how you are doing.  Actually that's not true.  She asks how you're doing before setting up.  Then she leaves you alone as needed, because she knows you will labor better without someone hovering, or she stays in the room if you need it.  She's there 100% for you and only you.  She gives emotional and comforting support, she gets you food and drink to keep your energy up, and does her best to encourage you.  Occasionally she will request to listen to the baby with her little device, and she'll check your dilation and whatnot, if you request.  It's all on your terms.  Plus, you're in whatever clothes you want, whatever position you want, in whatever place you want... you can even deliver in your edenic backyard garden pool if you want.  It's your birth, your way.

Thing is, though I absolutely adore my midwife, I was laboring better and more comfortably before she arrived.  And though she was mostly out of the room and out of the way and she spoke in whispers to keep the quiet and make her presence less intrusive, the pain became much more difficult to bear once someone interrupted the calm, came into my space, and began to take note of what was happening.  So, for this reason, even though Sena was UHmazing and I'd recommend her to anyone, I do think I'd reconsider unassisted birth in the unlikely case that I ever had another.

-----

Things were progressing quickly this time.  It was only a couple of hours from the water breaking that contractions were regular and quite close together.  But then, after a few more hours, it became apparent to me that nothing was changing.  It continued at the same intensity, and I even felt a little, almost "pushy" but the giant lump inside me was staying exactly in the same place.  I began to ask Sena to check to see where the baby was and what was going on.  There was a lip of cervix in the way.  Ugh, that again.  She tried to help pull it aside, but that was painful and I hated it.  I began to feel defeated.  Sena reassured me that things were moving quickly and efficiently but I felt like something was stalling the process and I was becoming angry about it since I'd worked so hard to make sure I wouldn't have the same obstacles this time as I had with Regin's birth.  I was shaking with fatigue, but I kept walking and walking.  I spent some time in the bath.  I tried different positions and sat a little on the birthing ball otherwise known as my exercise ball.  But mostly I walked.  I went back to the bath, I cried out, I screamed, I moaned and wailed.  I got angrier and angrier every time George delayed when beginning to recite his relaxation script as he had been doing every few minutes for who knows how many (15) hours.  I began pushing in the bath.  I pushed and screamed so hard, my throat quickly became raw.  And then... I wanted out.  I wanted to get on the birthing stool, which I hate, because I wanted this to be done.  I wanted rest for my trembling legs, and I wanted the position that would expedite birth.  We put it in almost the same spot that it had been put for Regin's birth, the spot where Regin had then taken his first breaths. 

I still had no idea how long this had been going on.  No clocks were around to tell me, but I saw the light in the windows change from morning to midday, from afternoon to evening.  Sena kept telling me things were moving along and his head was just there.  But I still felt like I wasn't getting anywhere.

During all this time, I never once asked to go to the hospital.  I never asked to be knocked out.  Outwardly I was in screaming pain, but somewhat in control and just working.  Inwardly I was having an entirely different dialog with myself:
"What the f**k is wrong with me?"
"What do you mean? You're in labor!"
"Why the heck do I insist on doing this the hard way?"
"It's better for you and the baby..."
"Pah!  F**k that!  I'm done with this s**t.  So done.  Sc**w home birth, natural birth.  Give me the fecking drugs.  Hell... next time around, if I do this again... Not only will I go to a hospital like a normal person, but I'll probably deliver the baby in my sleep with a planned c-section.  This s**t is for the birds."

I was saying all of that to myself up until the very last moment, when on the birthing stool, again in the same place, I birthed my second child.  I squeezed and pushed so hard I was actually worried about popping blood vessels in my brain.  I screamed and screamed and pushed and felt the ring of fire as he crowned, and with all that remained of my might, I pushed some more, and I felt him pour out of my body.  And then the most amazing thing happened:  I held him.

Everything melted away when I held him.  He was beautiful and I was strong, and I immediately felt, "Oh that?  That wasn't that hard.  I could do that again."  His head was squooshed and badly mishapen, but I didn't see it. He was beautiful and I instantly loved him.  He cried and my voice immediately changed to sooth him.  Ohhh it's ok Baby, that was hard, huh?  It hurt a lot and it was scary.  Poor baby, I know... it was hard for me too. 

It was hard.  It turns out it was a lot harder than it usually is.  There was a reason my fast-progessing labor had taken so long.  Turns out, not only was he posterior, but my baby had decided to present his brow first.  That's the rarest of presentations and the most difficult.  Hmmm... rare and difficult, he's like his mamma already.   Most literature will tell you that the brow presentation is not even feasible.  Unless baby's head is very small or Mamma's hips are very wide, baby just CANNOT come out that way.  I don't think either of us is unusually proportioned and he's definitely not small.  But somehow, we did it.  And we loved each other right away. 

My mom and sister came in, and with joyful tears I told them it was a boy.  And then I told them I had gotten just what I wanted:  that rush of hormones, that instant love, that connection with my baby.  Everything I hadn't had the first time, everything I had grieved the loss of with my first birth, I had now.  And I wept, and everyone else did too.












 

After a short while I birthed the placenta, which is relatively uncomfortable in itself.  I had hoped to let the baby crawl to my breast by himself as I'd seen babies do in videos.  But after more than an hour, I decided to give him a little help.  I lifted him to my breast, he opened his mouth, and clamped it onto me.  Ouch!  I forgot what that was like!  But I was thrilled that I didn't have to wrestle a nipple into his mouth, he latched himself on.  

I was still on such a high when Sena was examining my war wounds that as vulnerable as I could have felt with my legs draped over chairs, and someone sitting right between them, looking, checking, etc., I was chipper and chatting away and laughing.

That's how it was; with happy tears and laughter, Baby and I began a new life together and a family of four was born.

To be continued.
Part 4 -- Babymoon, coming tomorrow...

And I thought mine was hard!

I thought Regin's birth was hard, but it was a breeze compared to this...
Ok, I mean we did also have a major death in the family so it wasn't a breeze, but it could have been worse, I could have been in labor for 3 additional days! WOW!

Andrias's Birth, Part 2 -- The preparations

I prepared as much as I could this time around.  

I prepared for the pain...
After hearing of the success my friend Teddi had using Hypnobabies with her daughter's birth, about which she said she "wouldn't exactly describe it as pain", I decided I would use it too.  I ordered the home study course and jumped in.  Sadly, the course is a smidge on the highly-ambitious side for mothers of small children.  There is a daily, 40-minute practice of self hypnosis using provided audio tracks, there are 5 daily, 5-minute solo practices, and there are 20-minute sessions every other day with a script your spouse reads to you.  On top of all those, there is a 40-minute track of affirmations to listen to daily (which, by the way, is an AMAZING tool for putting toddlers to sleep), plus a large packet of materials to read, plus time you're supposed to spend doing visualizations and such.

Sorry.  That's just not feasible for the mother of a toddler.  We even hired a friend to come over and hang with our son a few times so I could do more of the practices.  On a couple of good days, I doubled up on practice, but I never did more than a handful of the 5-minute sessions.  Too bad.  I think those were maybe the most important.  For the 40-minute sessions I had to be alone, uninterrupted, and laying down, or it didn't work for me.  And even then it often didn't work.  So I shrugged and decided to just listen to the tracks at night while I slept and not beat myself up over it.

Turns out, the Hypnobabies was a huge help with my pregnancy.  Within a few days of regularly listening to the tracks in my sleep, my severe anxiety that had plagued me daily (through both my pregnancies) disappeared!  And it was truly severe.  I had been begging and pleading with doctors for weeks for help.  My DO suggested herbs and homeopathic remedies, an OB I saw twice wanted to put me on some heavy anxiety drugs, and I was so desperate, I was actually considering it, but thanks to the Hypnobabies, I ended up not having to!  The anxiety I had been bawling about simply melted away.  AMAZING!

I prepared for the baby...
I shopped my butt off a little this time.  I bought a bunch of organic clothes even though we've got baby clothes coming out of our ears from Regin's old stash which is still in perfect condition.  We got a new organic mattress, new wool carpet, and my dad built us a bed big enough to accommodate four people.  I knit for the baby, I reread (skimmed) some baby care books, I set up our changing station.

I prepared our older son...
I read him story books about home birth and having a baby in the house.  I tried to get him interested and excited about the idea, but didn't push it.  I talked to him about the baby in Mamma's tummy, and he talked to me about the baby in his.

I prepared our house...
George, my mom, and I cleaned, cleaned, cleaned.  My mom has been laughing at me ever since for making George get on his hands and knees and scrub the floor molding, while I was up to my elbows in the fireplace trying to get rid of 9 years of dust.  And we (we hope) rid our house of mold (and I stopped getting sick all the time, YAY!), and we installed a house humidifier (ahhhhh...).



I planned for the midwives...
I made arrangements for my sister to come for the birth to:  make sure things went smoothly in the house, see that I and the birth attendants would be fed (including weird foods for my food issues), and ensure Regin was properly entertained and occupied or removed, if need be.


I made my desires clear...
I wanted to be alone in our room with George as much as possible and I wanted no excess people in the house, which sadly included our mothers for me this time around.  During all the preparations, I had a third-trimester midwife reshuffle which was emotionally difficult to go through and I even considered unassisted birth because of how strong my instinct was to birth alone.  Further, I told myself repeatedly that this time I wanted labor to start in the morning after a full night of restful sleep.  (Can we please make sure that happens?)

I'm sure all the prep was excessive and unnecessary, but I think in some way I was trying to feel like I was doing what I could to gain a feeling of control and readiness after the loss of control and the unpreparedness I'd felt last time.


To be continued.
Part 3 -- The birth, coming tomorrow...

Last Snuggles With My Only Child

I'm laying here next to Regin in our family bed, all snuggled up and warm, and I'm feeling something bitter-sweet. I'm relishing this moment together and the peaceful stillness of the morning with my little one curled up against me.  But I can't help but wonder... How many days or even hours do we have left to be just the two of us?

Our relationship will change so much soon. His life will change. Three is becoming Four and Only is becoming First or Older.

Somehow even at his age I get the feeling he somehow understands his life is in transition. Even though he's going through a powerful Papi phase, he clings to me and cries for me more than ever.  He's become suddenly hyper and more difficult for an easily overstimulated Mamma to handle and it's been a sudden shift. We've talked about the baby in Mamma's tummy, how it's going to come out soon and how we'll love it and care for it when it does.  We've read Welcome with Love and We  Have a Baby together.  But can a two-year old understand what's happening?

Even if he doesn't, I do. And it makes me think back over the last almost three years...

His birth was long and difficult and I didn't bond with him right away, but when I started pulling out of my post-labor fog, and I looked at his poor little face that had been squeezed out of me, I recognized him and I smiled at the large feet he'd inherited from his Papi.  And on that first night together, as he slept on my chest, I listened to and learned the timbre and cadence of his voice in his breath.

In the early days I couldn't believe I'd made him.  When I looked at him sleeping next to me I marveled at the thought that I had made something so beautiful and I whispered to him that things would stay as they were and we'd never fight.  As he learned to focus his gaze on mine, I saw his love and felt mine.

In the following months, I learned how he and I would be together, that the books and websites were often wrong, and that I could trust what we developed together.  He learned to smile almost right away, earlier than supposedly possible, though he'd never let me catch it on camera, and after months of stressful and painful breastfeeding, I learned that I could go lengths of time without feeding him from my breast and still not lose my milk.  So in tune were we that if I was ever out of sync with his feeding schedule, even if it had changed suddenly and I wasn't there to know it, I would leak, and not any time I felt emotional or heard a baby cry like they show on TV.

As he's grown, I've been astonished at every new thing he's learned and wished I could track his language acquisition (English, Spanish, ASL, and even Faroese) and record every word as it came to him.  I tried a couple of times but just couldn't keep up.  I chuckled at my little climber, who did amazing stunts, scaling relatively high furniture before learning to walk.  I've seen him fall in love with identifying monkeys ("mono!"), motorcycles ("moto!"), balls, balloons, airplanes, fire trucks, robots, trains, and now letters, especially his favorite: the letter 'H'.  And I've watched him study his world as a scientist while using the same 'concentration face' I do.  I love that face, Little One, even though at some point you'll be misread as grumpy when you use it like I've often been and your Omma was before me.  It's funny that the 'sign name' that Tía Monica gave you is based on the word 'happy' (because you were always so happy as a baby) when others have often commented how serious you are.  I know you're just as silly as you are serious though.

He has gravitated towards boyish toys and interests despite having had no reinforcement for that from us.  So, maybe building and cars and shooting (SERIOUSLY don't know where he got that one) really do have something to do with the chromosomes.  Or maybe it's just coincidence.  After all, I did gravitate towards similar interests as a child even though I consciously made efforts to make myself like baby and Barbie dolls like my friends did.

He has his particulars with his foods as most children do.  Since graduating from purees, veggies and wet foods have been completely out, there is no limit to the amount blueberries he can eat, and as of the last six plus months, he has to have a glass of water and a glass of milk with every meal, including cereal.

He's always been extremely sensitive and empathetic and I adore that about him.  When he sees me upset or hears me yelp he asks me what's wrong and comes over to offer his kisses and rubs to make it better.  He uses pleases, thank yous, you're  welcomes, and such of his own accord, I frequently get an "I love you too, Mamma," and sometimes even get an unsolicited "I love you."  He's a hand holder, like me, and loves to hold our hands off and on when we eat together at the kitchen table.

Every day I learn something new about my boy.  Every day I get to laugh, even through the struggles and yes, fights, and delight in all the silly things he does.  I love even the things that annoy me like his singing Smilla-de-Lilla or Heffalumps and Woozles for hours on end, though I must say his aggressive display of affection for Smilla is not my personal favorite. 

Most of all I love the morning wake ups together; our snuggles and tickles and all the good stuff that comes before he insists we get up to eat.  I hope that a new baby won't interrupt that morning ritual too much, I hope it won't be too long before (s)he joins in the morning yumminess and that another member of our snugglefest only enhances the warmth of it.  But for now I want to savor the last moments we have alone together.  I love that it's just we, my little boy and me.

October Photos - Misc

We filled our time with silly things once GEORGE STARTED HIS NEW JOB!!!

One day, I found Regin sitting peacefully in the window sill.  He looked so sweet staring out at the snow.

Turns out...

He was actually looking at and playing with the dead flies in the sill.  Ew, gross! 

I had a crazy day the Friday of George's first week.  I had an INTENSE dizzy spell that continued to get worse even though I laid down on the floor, and I got pouring sweats and chest pain.  So I ended up going to the emergency room.  Dear Teddi came over to make sure I was ok until George made it home from work (I think he was there for about 30 minutes that day!) and he took me.  Since the three of us were recovering from a 'cold' we were asked to wear masks.

Our drive home...

The emergency room doc didn't even want to hear about me talk about a cold.  He immediately corrected me and told me I had the flu.  "The flu?" I asked.
"If you've got flu symptoms right now, it's gotta be the flu.  Swine flu."
"Really?"
"Yep."
"I was wondering since just about everyone I knew got sick at the same time - even all around the country!"
"Yep.  We're seeing around 30 cases a day around here right now."


We got a new sweater from Omma.  Isn't it awesome?


Almost lost it before it was ever worn!  We left it in a diaper bag at a store in Boulder and it was about 3 days before we realized!  Thankfully the store (Ellie's Eco Home Store) held on to it for us.  I was SO relieved!


You can see the rest of our October photos in our October 09 album.

Penang -- Week 33 -- The Lunch Group

THURSDAY, October 30th
A bunch of us from babywearing meet at our friend Alison's house for lunch.  There's been talk of a regular play group starting.  I thought it would be fun and casual like the ones we're already doing, but Jess sent us all a long email last week detaling all of the 'guidelines' for what she calls a "structured playgroup."  She wants it to be a sort of home-run, preschool co-op.  Where a couple of moms each week would host and lead a learning activity or craft.  We'd have lunch, and scheduled free play as well, but we'd eventually leave all the kids with two moms and the rest of the moms would go out for their own free play.  That last part has been vetoed by several group members already.  But the rest sounds a little hyper structured to me too.  I told Jess I'm willing to try it, but I don't know that I'm looking for Regin to learn anything when we go to a playgroup.

A few of the ladies are buzzing about what I must have brought to eat for lunch.  It's my veggie-squash-tuna bake which has recently become a staple at our house.  People are oohing and ahhing about how delicious it must be up until the moment it hits their plates.  But as soon as they put it in their mouths, silence.  Hmmph.  It's not my best veggie-squash-tuna bake, but I think it's still pretty darned good.  But no one makes a peep about it.  I know locals never talk much while dining, but there are also English and Australian women at the table and there is some chatter.

Maybe I've lost my touch?

Jess, one of the Malaysians at the table, then tells me that my frittata last Thursday inspired her to make her own.  Huh!  I guess she liked it.  And now that I'm paying attention, everyone is quietly reaching for seconds and thirds of my dish this week.  Strange.  No compliments on the dish during or after lunch.  But everyone thanks each other for bringing each dish.

Jess and Debz have been trying to make Elisabeth-friendly food when we get together.  So sweet, but it's an almost impossible task.  Amazingly, Jess has something I can eat this time.  It's mushrooms, garlic, bell pepper (which they call capsicum) and lemon grass.  Oh my goodness.  Very tasty.  I have to learn how to make it!  I make sure to mention my pleasure while eating it.

Penang -- Sauna Versus Walk-in-Dryer

I never did tell you all that we got something new early in October.  Something we weren't sure about at all.   We got a sauna. Why would anyone in Penang get a sauna?  Well, because we're that nutty!  Actually no.  It was at the insistence of the apartment management people.  They're the nutty ones! 

Well, truthfully what we really got are windows in our laundry-room balcony.  What's the big deal?  OK, OK.  So, there is no longer any threat of rains in our laundry room (as long as I remember to close the windows), which is nice, but it doesn't do great things to my favorite non-sea view.  And since the exhausts for two AC units are there, and that exhaust is now getting trapped in the enclosed space, it's soooooooooooooooooooooooooooo hot!  IT'S UNBEARABLE.  And the only thing between the laundry 'room' and the kitchen is a large, slatted window, so that means the kitchen is crazy hot now too.  It really is so hot out there on the balcony though that it really does feel just like the heat of a sauna.  You know how it burns your face and eyes?  Yeah, that's exactly what it's like.

George was about to demand that they take the windows down again, but then I discovered an upside.  That kind of dry heat being pumped into the space where I hang my clothes means super high-speed drying time!  It's almost like we have a dryer again.  Only it's a walk-in dryer!  How many people in the world are so well-off to have one of those!?!!

Supporting a positive global effect

Reem sent this article to me about the sudden change in attitude towards Americans living overseas since Obama's win.  I identify so much with the woman in the article who has learned ways to cope with varying degrees of hostility due to her American nationality.  I have not ever pretended to be from another country or lied when asked, but I have had a "never-tell-unless-asked" policy.  It worked particularly well in England when I had an English accent.  Of course, the news still traveled and those who found out often gave me hell.

"Are you American?"
"Yes."
"I've just taken a sudden disliking to you!"

I sat through one class where the teacher spent the entire period telling a joke about the massive amounts of excrement on Noah's Arc.  That was the set up, the punchline was that the pile that was discarded into the sea was eventually discovered by Columbus and named America.  He said that looking directly at me.  I was about 11 or 12.

I developed the shame that is discussed in the article.  And it's a shame I still struggle to free myself from. But should I?  Although I'm not personally responsible for my country's past actions, I'm not sure that all American's shouldn't be feeling a little shame.  It's not an accident we're so unpopular.  And it is important that we change that.  Maybe a little of that shame, instead of the blind pride many of us walk so boldly with, can help us make the necessary change.

The fact that Obama is helping our PR to this extent is so great.  I only hope that he doesn't disappoint to a degree that would bring us back to square one or even somewhere worse.  We also need to act as ambassadors to support the PR shift.  And I don't only mean people who are overseas.  I mean you guys at home too.  I cringe when I read what Americans say online.  And what foreigners see of our YouTube videos, TV shows, and other media does not paint a very friendly picture of us.

Shanti was asking me about it all Friday.  As usual, she really didn't understand or remember what I'd said to her before.  So she came in saying, "He already won?"
"Yes."
"Everybody say is a good thing."
"Yes!"  My excitement was renewing.  "Lots of people think so, but not everyone."
"It's very scary.  They really don't like black people there."

Sigh.  How can I argue with her?  You read those couple of quotes in my newspaper summary yesterday, right?  In case you didn't, I think it's worth putting one again here:

"I don't think we'll have to worry about another African-American president in four year's time, because after what's going to happen in the next four years under Obama, we'll never elect an African-American again."

Shanti's right.  It is scary.  We think this is such a victory and such a positive sign for our culture.  But there are still plenty of Americans who have just as much ignorance, prejudice and ugliness in their hearts as ever.  Even if Obama's foreign policy is perfect, and he mends bridges all over the place.  Our everyday citizens may undo his work.  Who wants to deal with a prejudiced and superior culture?


________________________________________________________

OK. I think I've had my say.  No more Obama on here, at least not for a while. 

We're hoping to go to Thailand today!  If not today, then tomorrow.  I've pre-posted a bunch of posts, so no worries, they will continue in our absence.  TTFN!

Obama's Victory - Local Perspective II

I thought I'd share some article summaries from yesterday's newspaper so you can get an idea how Obama's victory is portrayed here.  One thing is clear.  The world has a lot of hope placed on Obama's presidency.  With such high expectations, it's hard to imagine anything but disappointment resulting.  Let's hope not.  Read on...

Cover: 
CHANGE HAS COME
"He's already changed America by becoming the first black man to win the White House.  His challenge is to change the course of its government and guide it through hard times an past the financial crisis he inherits as he takes office.  And deliver on his promise of a new dawn for the world."

Page two:
PM: World hopes for positive change
Malaysia's prime minister, Datuk Seri Abdulla Ahmad Badawi talks about the expectations the world has for this new leader and the hope that he will address issues in Iraq, Afghanistan, Iran, and Palestine.  "He also hoped that Obama would be fair in dealings with Islamic countries and groups."  He also spoke about hopes for improved relations between the US and Malaysia specifically.  He feels that Obama's ties in Indonesia and Malaysia (he has a Malaysian brother-in-law) will be a positive influence in the relationship.  Further, "Although I don't share all his foreign policy prescriptions, I think he represents change in the YS and he is willing to engage in meaningful dialogue." 

KL looks forward to better relations
More hopes for improved relations with Malaysia.  "Malaysia welcomes his victory as a new beacon in the struggle for democracy."  Interestingly, Malaysians are also interested in the fact that we finally have a black president:  "...as the first African-American president, Obama's victory proved that Americans were able to look beyond race and religious beliefs in electing their leader."  Interesting.  Did they also get those email forwards about Obama being a Muslim? 

Page four:
'Obama Boleh' spirit abounds in KL
People have previously tried to explain the Malaysian concept of "boleh" in the past, but I still don't get it.  It's some kind of rah-rah-rah spirit though.  Like "Yay!  Go Obama!" or something to that effect.  Pictured are three "staunch Obama supporters" dressed in Obama-boleh tees (I so need one) while attending the election-watch/party at the US embassy.  WHY didn't I know that was going on?  We missed out on that too!?!?!?    And it sounds like it would have been so fun!  "It was the worst kept secret as to who most of those who attended supported, with Malaysians and their foreign friends loudly cheering and clapping jubilantly every time a result came in from an US state where Obama had won.  When it was finally clear he was victorious, the hall erupted into a delightful frenzy.  The packed hall at the Renaissance Hotel was decked out in blue, red, and white, with a festive feel to the occasion courtesy of balloons, banners, colourful hats and even life-size cut outs of both Obama and Republican candidate John McCain."

IT'S A LANDSLIDE VICTORY
A reuters article.  It's a basic summary of the victory, race issues, his background, his promises, etc..

Page 24:
Enter Obama, at a time of stark choices.
Discussion of the US's dire economic situation and that the "talk now is of a global recession." Someone is going to have to explain that one to me, because I know diddly about economics.  But how can there be a global recession?  If one country is in debt, doesn't that make another country rich?  The article seems to put a lot of weight in the US's position in the world even if we no longer  have the "privilege of having the largest, most dynamic economy, and one that acted as a world creditor."  I find it kind of funny that they refer to Bush as a "lame duck president."

Obama's story captures their imagination
Someone with a very Indian-looking name reports from Grant Park, Chicago, and beautifully describes the overwhelming emotion of Obama's victory as he actually experiences Obama's victory speech in person.  He must be American though because it's hard to imagine a Malaysian or other nationality get this excited about it:  "So stand up.  Holler.  Scream, at the top of your lungs.  Call your friends.  Call your families.  Wake up your children.  They're going to want to see this.  And don't forget where you are right now, right this minute, because years from now, people are going to ask you:  where were you when Barack Obama became president of the United States of America?  In this life of ours, it's is truly a rare thing when can genuinely claim to have witnessed history. I do not believe that it is possible to overstate the importance of what just happened and I am truly convinced that this will be the defining moment not just for American history, but for all our histories."  He also talks about race:  "I am under no illusion that Obama's victory means all is well with race relations in America.  It does, however, show progress."  He goes on to say that he liked McCain but didn't think it was the former, truer McCain that campaigned. 

On the emotions of the event:  "Obama is speaking now.  The people around me are weeping.  They're clapping.  I'm having a hard time comprehending what he's saying.  The strength of the feeling around me is just unbearable. I'm going to have to go home and read a transcript.  But somehow I feel reassured.  There is something about the sound of his voice that tells me everything is going to be all right.  It's irrational, I know.  But rationality is for another time.  Tonight I am not cool, collected, or objective, as I stand here, surrounded by these people, I find it impossibly hard to be.  As I stand here, in the only country in the world founded entirely on ideas, with no common ancestry, religion, or even ideology, I finally understand why for generations people have flocked to these strands."

Page 28:
Asia pins hopes on Obama
China hopes for stronger ties. Australia's prime minister is excited about the progress in American race relations. Pakistan's premier hopes Obama will promote peace and stability in Afghanistan. Afghanistan's president is all excited about the race thing too. India:  "Obama's youthful energy [is] in tunes with the dynamism of the emerging country. [India's  ruling party is] confident that that rapidly warming ties [will] grow stronger under Obama's leadership.  South Korea hopes for better relations and the Philippines hopes for "greater cooperation."  Indonesia hopes the change will "boost the fight against the global economic crisis."

New dawn of American leadership
An AFP article from Washington.  Summaries of Obama's foreign policy goals. Mentions of people around the globe celebrating his victory and their increased hope.

Page 29:
They rejoice for the man whose middle name is... HUSSEIN"
An AFP article from London.  Mostly discusses the celebrations around the world, including the US embassy party in London (aargh, apparently they are commonplace!  Did everyone know about these but us?)!  A 29-year-old Thai man says, "He had an Asian childhood, African parentage and has a Middle Eastern name.  He is a truly global president."    An American in London says, "It would be nice to have a president who is celebrated when he goes abroad and his effigy is not burned."

 Ex-classmates in Indonesia very proud of 'Barry'
Talks about the kids who currently go to Obama's old school in Indonesia, and his former classmates' pride in him.  They mention how he mastered the language and how smart he was.  "Even as a young boy, he was good at using persuasion to settle his little fights with other boys."  And... "He has been a global person since he was a little boy.  He lived in Indonesia, he understands and shares Asian culture."


Page 30:
'I'm excited... he's going to pull us from over here... If McCain had won, we'd be over here for years, and I mean years and years.'
Reuters.  US soldiers in Iraq share how happy they are at the news.

Iraq does not expect hasty change
Reuters.  Iraqi leaders aren't getting their hopes up too much.

Page 31:
McCain diehards fear the worst
Oh what a sad portrait to paint of us to other countries.  "I just don't think America is quite ready for an African-American president." And the big doozy... "I don't think we'll have to worry about another African-American president in four year's time, because after what's going to happen in the next four years under Obama, we'll never elect an African-American again."  Sigh.

Page 50:
Obama win buoys sentiment
Hopes that his election will bring "a fresh stimulus" to various Asian economies.

Page 5 of the People section:
Obama's strongwoman
Basically behind every great man is a great woman and this one is so great because of her fashion sense and because she knows her place.  Hmmmm....

Obama's Victory - Local Perspective

I just had to get a copy of today's newspaper.  Any American newspaper from this day would be a historical document worth saving, but a newspaper from Malaysia talking about the day is a much more perfect souvenir for my experience.  

Yesterday, after it was announced who the next president would be, I was about to explode with the news.  I first called George at work to tell him.  That didn't satisfy my urge, so I told Shanti, our maid.  She had no idea we had elections going on.  "So George is no more?"
"Well, Obama doesn't become president until January, so George will be president until then."
She asked me how I voted.  I told her that I hadn't.  I hadn't gotten around to taking the necessary steps to get that absentee ballot.  She thought people not voting or registering was a Malaysian thing.  "No," I said, "That's everywhere."

I still had more excitement to scream so I went online to see who I could see.  Facebook was filled with joyous exclamations from a good 90% or more of the people writing status updates.  There were only a few not so joyous statuses.  I wondered if they felt the same kind of defeat I felt when Bush became president.  And I wondered if this euphoria and optimism I felt was what it felt like to be a republican in the last 8 years. 

I still wanted to celebrate vigorously with anyone I could.  So, when we joined some friends in the evening for a Guy Fawke's Night celebration (our friends Debz and Dave are British), I asked, "So have you all heard our good news?"
Blank stares and head shakes.
"Obama won."
"Who is that?"
"He will be our next president."
"And that's good news?"
"YES.  It is for me!!!"

No one present (Malaysian or British) had any idea our elections were going on, who Obama was, or anything.  So strange given how widespread his media reach has been.  I've seen people perusing his books in Tokyo and in Penang.  And I'd read online that people around the globe were taking notice of this election.

Some people here know plenty about it.  George's coworkers have been grilling him about his choice of candidate and have told him that they hoped Obama would win.  Today at a play group, our Australian friend Alison asked me if I was excited and told me that some of her friends were going out to "have a beer for Obama." 

Then, this evening, I grabbed a copy of today's newspaper.  It says "New Straits Times" on the cover, but this particular issue might more aptly be titled, "All About Obama's Victory."  There must be at least a dozen articles about him.  And, indeed, he certainly shows some presence on the front page as you can see above.

So Malaysians, like Americans now ask, he can talk the talk, but can he walk the walk?

Penang -- Week 29 -- A Salt and Neglect

Week 29
WEEKEND, September 26th - 28th
The weekend starts out nice.  Early Friday evening, we take a walk, as a family, along Gurney Drive and out to the rocks along the shore.  There, we sit for a while and take in the view.  I never get tired of looking at the water, and the warm pinks of sunset, combined with the other sensory experiences of sitting out by the wave-kissed shore and the sounds and smells of the nearby restaurants only makes it that much more of a moment to remember.  And as if that wasn't enough, we spot a monitor lizard darting between the rocks right in front of us!

After that it's all downhill.  Salsa dancing is ok, Saturday's highlight is watching iTunes downloads, and Sunday is all about missed trips to our neighborhood Buddhist temples (was feeling ill) and forgotten fun at the monthly Little Penang Street Market (how could I forget again?).

Monday I'm determined to go out and do fun and productive things, but Mother Nature has other ideas.  So the witch throws serious storms at us all day and night.  Actually it's been since Sunday night.  Great.  Now I'm going to be behind on my laundry again with no dry balcony to hang my clothes on.

MONDAY, September 29th
It's an eventful day as it turns out.  It has one event too many as far as I'm concerned.  One particular event:  Regin finds the baggie of sea salt on the dining room table and spreads some salt love around the apartment.  He's gleaming with his glorious find when I finally see what he's up to.  I'm pretty sure he's eaten some of it.  Question is, how much?  And how much is too much?  I go online to answer the latter question. 

Great.  Apparently some small number of tablespoonfuls is fatal to a toddler.  There's an alleged murder case popping up again and again on various news sites.  George arrives just then and I tell him we may have to take Regin to the hospital.  I don't think he's had much if any salt, but to be sure we probably aught to go.  George asks about the milk mustache Regin has.  Turns out (after a taste test) it's crystalized, salty saliva.  I call my beloved Dr. Goh.
"I know that if he's eaten enough that it could be fatal."
"I very much doubt that he could eat that much.  Did he have a spoon?"
"No."  I wasn't thinking yet about the easy-pour bag the salt was in, and about how long he'd had to consume a deadly amount over a length of time instead of in one sitting.
"Well, I think it would be very difficult to eat that much salt.  It just wouldn't taste good."
"OK, but are there some signs I could look for that would indicate that he'd had more than we thought and that he should see a doctor?"
"Well, I don't know, I mean there might be fits [seizures] and he would be very thirsty, but I don't think that could happen.  It would be very hard for a little boy to eat that much salt."  She pauses before asking, "How was he after his runny nose?"
"Sorry?"
"You called me after he fell and had a runny nose."
"Oh! Yes!"
"So how did that turn out?"
Grrr... I don't like her tone.  "Oh I don't remember, I think he got sick, that was a while ago now."
"Yes, well, I think he will be just fine."

I'm sick of her.  She doesn't take anything I ask about seriously and now she's implying that I am overprotective and paranoid.  I'm neither.  I just never want to look back and wish that I would have checked that one thing out.  If we were all wrong and he had consumed too much salt, I would be upset with myself for not making sure I'd checked it out appropriately.

I called the pediatric clinic at the hospital that gave Regin his CT scan. 
"I think my son ate a bunch of salt."
"Ah?"
"My son may have eaten too much salt."
"You want a consult?"
"No, salt, table salt.  My son ate salt.  I want to know if I should bring him in."
"Oh salt! Umm... hard to say without see him.  I think you should bring him and doctor can have a look.  Can not say for sure if we not see him."

Hmmm... I think she just didn't want to deal with the language barrier over the phone.  George suggests I call Ask-a-Nurse in the States, but we don't know the number.  So we call North Suburban Medical Center in Thornton and they transfer us.  The connection is terrible because of the storm.  Every other word is gone, sometimes entire sentences.  We're absolutely struggling to communicate before we get disconnected.  I go through all the hoops to connect back to the same woman.  She's dismissive.  In as few words as possible (I know, not my strong suit) I explain that I know it's unlikely that he has eaten that much, but I just want to know some signs to look for that would mean I should change my mind and take him to the hospital. 
"Is he thirsty?  He would be very thirsty.  But I just don't think he could eat that much on his own." (Being dismissive is just as common in American doctors).
"OK, but what are the signs that I should worry about if he did eat too much?"
"Well if you're really worried, you should call Poison Control."

So I call Poison Control.  The connection is just as bad, but thankfully the woman is very patient with me.  She's trying to give me suggestions but every suggestion is cut out of our conversation, and half of my questions are too.  Finally I'm able to answer when she asks what he weighs and she looks up the toxicity of salt at that weight.  She says it's only a couple of teaspoons, and do I think he could have eaten that much."
"I honestly don't know."
"Is the hospital far?"
"No."
"Well, you could wait and see, since the hospital is close, but if you think that he may have possibly eaten that much..."
"Well, he did have the bag to himself for quite some time. Maybe half an hour.  Maybe more."
"Go to the hospital now!  You could wait and see, but you don't want to have to start thinking about going to the hospital when he's already having seizures, so just go."
FINALLY A CLEAR ANSWER!!!

So we take him to the pediatric clinic.  It's the same doctor as last time.  I may have to find an alternate clinic if I'm going to continue checking everything out!  She's also dismissive.  I tell her what Poison Control had said. She offers to do a blood test to check sodium levels.  We accept.  Regin is an absolute star when they are poking him, taking his blood, and leaving a tube in his arm (in case they have to flush him with fluids if he does have too much sodium.)  Then we wait and wait.  No food.  Missed dinner.  No food in the hospital.  Regin couldn't be happier though.  There is a slide in the waiting room and a pond with fish.  Finally the results are back.  Normal.  But suddenly her dismissive tone has changed.  "You know, you really should lock detergents and medicines away from your son."  Oh!  So now she thinks I'm neglectful!  I'm not sure what that has to do with table salt though.
"They are locked away, this was salt... on the dining room table!"
She nods, but she has that judging look in her eye.

Yeah, I know, mother of the year.  I'm both completely paranoid and totally neglectful.  I can't win in either direction.

Penang -- Week 28 -- Thai II, Jacuchi and All

Week 28
WEEKEND, September 19 - 21
Uneventful weekend.  Friday, dancing again.  You know those nights when for some reason everything is just more fun?  Well we had a blast dancing this week.  I have a sneaking suspicion that it has to do with what I ate beforehand.

Saturday, we're at the mercy of our ridiculous internet.  We're being throttled.  We're pretty sure they have sort of limit on our downloads and they slow our internet way down if we go over that limit.  At the beginning of the month, internet is fine, not great, but doable.  By now, after all our heavy downloading of TV shows and movies, everything is crazy slow so we can't really download stuff to watch.   So, crazy as it is, we make a drive down to Agilent to make use of the internet there.  The guards are sticklers though, so Regin and I have to wait in the car while George grabs the videos, puts them on our iPhone and iPod and then we go home and watch!  Ugh!  It would be so much simpler if we'd just go ahead and get the pirated DVDs!

Sunday... I don't even remember Sunday.


MONDAY - THURSDAY, September 22nd - 25th
We have our air conditioning units back again!  WahooooOoooooooOOOOOO!  I feel like I'm in one of those York Peppermint Patties ads.

Monday I'm checking out local eBay sales, for the heck of it and I spot this.

That's a pretty sexy bathing suit for locals.  Most of them seem to just wear t-shirts to cover up when they go swimming here.  You have no idea how risque I felt wearing this.  And that was a shirt over a tankini (bikini bottom exposed, yikes!).

Hey, anyone want a boob dress?  If so, I know where you can get one. 

Wednesday I'm back to the spa for another massage.  They tell me to have a seat and wait.  Then they come and grab me and lead me to my same little room.  Woah!  What about the "jacuchi" (jacuzzi)?  Blank stares.  I'm supposed to have a jacuzzi bath first. Oh!  They had no idea.  So I'm back out to wait while they prepare it.  It's a nice enough bath.  Nothing special.  It's really just a regular bathtub with jets, but whatever.  It'll be good to relax the muscles before my massage, see if that helps.

The massage is more of the same, only a little less intense poking/pressing on my back and no crick at the end.  The bath didn't help that much though.  She's still commenting that my back is very hard.

I guess the main difference between this massage and the last one (or any other I've ever had for that matter) is that my masseuse is using the phone!  I thought I heard her texting, but I wasn't sure.  Then I hear vibrating and more button pushing with her free hand and the one working on me seems... somewhat... distracted!  And I think, is she really trying to get away with this?  Then the phone rings and she answers it and sits and chats on it for a while!!  "Trying to get away with what," she seems to answer!

Unbelievable!  I could complain, but she tells me it's her last day there and she's back home to Bangkok tomorrow.

I think it's my last day there too.  I get out of the hour and half massage and I'm put in the tea room and then they try and tell me that my bill is like 150 ringgit, when I had previously been told it would be 88!  I'm told it's because I got the 1.5 hour massage instead of the hour massage.  I never said anything to anyone about it being 1.5 versus 1 hour, and the woman who told me it was 88 never said anything about it being for only an hour, so I refuse to pay the extra.  She offers to show me their price chart.  "You can if you want to, but it won't change the fact that I was told it would be 88 ringgit."  Finally she gives in and gives it to me for 88 before she tries to sell me on a 500 ringgit package.  "No thank you."  She pushes but there's no way.

Photos from the week:

In the alley directly below our sea-view window, we occassionally see this sort of scene.  A man, squatting by the gutter cleaning a fish and rinsing it in that blue tub in which other people might also rinse raw, whole chickens or even their hands.

Hey, anyone ever seen one of those naked boy lamps?  (scroll down in the link to see what I mean)  They are so cute/funny.  I couldn't help but think of them when my naked boy was walking around the apartment with this hat on his head.

And Reem, we've been finding that the shirt that you gave Regin is maybe just a little too appropriate for him.  That devil tail sure belongs right on his backside when he's doing something like this:

Nothing is safe!

Here's Regin eating a sandwich, when for the first time it hasn't been cut into bite-sized pieces.  Such a big boy.

He avoids the crust just like every other kid.

Oh and he's been drinking on his own from a big boy cup for ages now.

Penang -- Week 27 -- A Different Kind of Massage

TUESDAY - THURSDAY, September 16th - 18th
We're up late again Tuesday dealing with various U.S. bills and making calls to U.S. companies.  At one point, I look out the window and I spot a strange creature ambling along the power lines below.  George joins me in looking and then we spot another one making its way across another power line.  What ARE they????  They're sort of possumy-ferrety looking.  Unfortunately, by the time I grab my camera they are gone.  But George thinks they're possums.  There is always interesting wild life around here!  I'd definitely rather see more of these guys than continue to look at the rats running along the rooftop gutters on the restaurants in front of us.

Wednesday is a treat for me.  I'm finally using part two of my Mother's Day package at the spa.  I go in thinking I need to stick with something harmless like a facial (after that first experience), but then they offer me an authentic Thai massage, which I'm told involves a lot of stretching like yoga.  That sounds relaxing and I'm thinking that it's an opportunity for an experience, so I do it. 

They take me to an entirely different room.  It's in a very Asian-looking corridor with decorative stones and leaves along the sides of a stone path.  Each room has thin, shoji-like sliding doors.  They slide the door open to my room, and indicate for me to leave my slippers in the hall.  The room is well lit and has a thin mattress on the floor.  The sheets on the mattress and pillow are minimalist-Asian in two-tone brown.  There are little Asian touches around the room.  There is a short-sleeved, short-legged, brown, cotton pajama set for me to put on.  (No nudity with disposable G-string this time!) 

My massage therapist is a different girl this time, which has me hopeful for a better experience.  The experience is definitely different, but it still involves a lot of pain.  My therapist has discovered that I have an unbelievably rock-hard, tense back; she speaks enough English to keep commenting on it.  Apparently this means she should pressure my muscles into submission by pushing on them with all of her might!  I don't know how her thumbs can take that kind of pressure because I'm not sure if my back can!  But, I try to go with it and let her do her thing.  I'm convinced this could be therapeutic even if it's painful in the (hopefully) short term.  Eventually she gives up and moves on to my limbs.  When working on my legs, she gets on top of me and uses her knee and shin to press into my behind and thigh.  So yeah, there is still some intimacy in the Thai version.  But this targets several tired spots at once, so that's pretty cool.

After that she tells me to turn over.  My neck hurts from being pushed face-down into a pillow.  She massages my shoulders, neck, and head, so that helps.  She then bends my arm back to massage my arms with my triceps stretched.  This feels AWESOME.  A lot of the massage involves squeezing, and pressing, and tapping/slapping, versus the rubbing I'm used to.  There is also joint cracking, and she cracks my fingers and toes (ouch).  Back to my legs again, and now with me face up, she lays one leg down, and bent at the knee.  She holds onto my foot and massages my thigh with her feet.  Once you get past the weirdness of this, it feels pretty good.

At the end she has me sit up, she sits behind me, massages my back a little again before she indicates for me to put my hands together behind my head.  She then quickly twists me to the side and my back cracks.  She's done, my hour and a half is up, but now I have a crick in my back from the back crack.  She stays longer and works on my crick.  It's better, but still there.

Then I am taken to a room with a squishy couch, magazines, and a big TV to have tea and nibbles.  I can't, so I just sit there and wait.  The receptionist (who has only seen me once before for Mother's Day and still notices my major weight loss) comes in and sits with me to tell me that I still have a jacuzzi ("jacuchi") or steam room session left on my package.  And do I want to book that along with another massage that would cost extra.  The scam is beginning.  She tells me that it will be 88 ringgit (about $25) for another Thai massage.  Hmmm... I'm aware that she's using a BS jacuchi session to try and and entice me for another massage, and it's not really working, but I am interested to have another Thai massage again soon to see if I can feel a therapeutic benefit after two sessions.  Besides it's only $25.  So I book it.

There were some very good parts to this, first Thai massage, and my back is looser after all that intense pressing, but I am a little sore for my relaxing, yoga-like experience.

Penang -- Week 27 -- Lost in Translation

MONDAY - TUESDAY, September 15th - 16th
Monday it's family shopping day this week.  Regin and I hop in a cab and go and meet George at the mall down by work.  We can walk to Gurney Plaza by the apartment, and it's a nicer mall, but Queensbay, down by Agilent, has more of the cool stores. 

Our cabbie is not our regular guy.  This one is a practically a Penang tour guide and points out every school and police living quarters and every other mundane sight you could imagine.  He also refers to our dear own Mr. Prez., G. W., as "King of the World" whose successor, he predicts, will be Obama.  I'm not sure whether I should encourage the disdain towards our current head jefe, so though I'm generally always up for G. W. bashing, I keep quiet and let him go back to rambling on about the places that policemen live and why he's so proud to be a Malaysian.  In case you're curious, the answer apparently has largely to do with the fact that there is mutual tolerance and respect between the followers of all the various religions.  He believes any man's religion to be sacred and untouchable. 

People talk a lot about the harmony between the various culture groups here.  I'm not sure I buy it.  Outwardly, sure.  But there are undertones of discordance.  Thing is, in this culture, you don't speak out against the group.  The peace of the group comes first.  So that makes it difficult, if not implicitly forbidden, for anyone to express any real intercultural frustrations. Though, even if it weren't taboo, I'm not sure if anyone would even be able to say anything.

Tuesday a couple of our most vital air-conditioning units have stopped working, and we're melting in little puddles all over the apartment.  So some guys are in to fix the things.  First of all they show up at an unexpected time.  George had asked them to confirm with him and they didn't.  He had told them I would be home, so that was good enough for them.  I had no warning.  The place was the most embarrassing wreck that an overtired mother of an active toddler couldn't scramble enough to hide.  I wouldn't even let our maid see it (or me) like this.  I try to refuse them, but they look at me with the familiar blank stare that speakers of a different language give when you are obviously saying something in Martian.  They call our mutual contact and hand the phone to me.  She insists I let them in.  Ugh.

Before I know it, they are tearing down units and taking them away.  They're out on my balcony (laundry room) removing a unit there, and no one can tell me why.  I never said anything about that one.  All they can manage is something not quite so advanced or clear as "need to take" and when I keep insisting on receiving an answer to my, "WHY?!!!??" I get more blank stares.  I'm on the phone again with the apartment representative who tells me to let them take the units, they are broken and need to be fixed/replaced.  She won't listen when I try to tell her over and over that there is an additional unit they are taking that no one complained about. 

I give up and indicate that there is something wrong with another unit.  The head guy takes a look.  He doesn't say anything to me and then he climbs out on the ledge outside my bathroom window and starts disassembling more stuff.  I have no idea if the unit I just asked about is fixed or if my problem is being ignored.  So I try to ask.  This is, after all, our most intensely used air con unit in the apartment, without it we might as well be baking in the sun all day.  The head guy says something like, "OK." 
"Can use?" I ask. 
"Can."
I indicate with my hands that one of the lights keeps flashing.  When I press him to tell me what that means, he says, "cannot talk."  And flat out ignores me the rest of the time he's there.  Doesn't even let me know he's finished and leaving!  And he leaves greasy white (paint or what I don't know) footprints all over my dark red bath tub and two on my black scales before he leaves. 

Jerk.  I know he did that on purpose.  All his little subordinates were crammed in that bathroom with him.  He seriously had to weigh himself with all of them there before he left?  No.  He knew he was leaving me little, impossible to remove reminders of his visit.  This is infuriating!  And most of this is because not one of these guys, air con boss or air con minions, speaks any English.  I want to be angry and say that this is proof that we should have been given Malay lessons, but these guys probably don't even speak much Malay.  They all looked ethnically Chinese.  And as I've already found out, the relationship between the Chinese here and the Malay language is not all that dissimilar to that high school French that you forgot as soon as the memory of school-enforced learning faded away into "real life."

Malaysian really don't necessarily know how to speak Malay!  Do you know, there is this story in the news about an ethnic Indian Malaysian (pregnant) girl who gave birth in prison because when she was stopped by police and asked for her identification (which she didn't have on her) her Malay was so broken that they were certain she was a foreigner, and therefore an illegal alien! It wasn't until a doctor check up for the baby that someone heard and understood her story.  And this is not some child of illegal immigrants, we're talking someone who is as Malaysian as the Malay-Malaysians are, whose family has been here for generations.  And she ended up being imprisoned for 11 months before the truth was discovered!

It's a wonder that any real discourse of any kind can go on here.  Or does it even?  I mean, most of the Chinese youth seem to speak broken English to each other, and we hear broken English being spoken between parents and children as well.  They're articulacy in English is so limited, I have to wonder how much depth their discussions can possibly have.    And if their minds aren't exercised in critical thinking and rhetorical discourse, how much intellect is fostered?  Maybe they speak a much higher level of Hokkien and can argue till the end about the connotation and denotation of various semantic choices, but then why do they seem to always speak amongst themselves and raise their children in their weaker language? 

And what about the discourse that should be going on between culture groups?  Does the language barrier make it impossible for it to even happen?  I mean, imagine if you were limited to very rudimentary language when trying to discuss the marginalization of various ethnic groups in the US!  Of course there are plenty here who are more articulate in English, but not good enough for George and I to exercise our debate muscles with them a whole lot.  And it's not that they understand each other better than I understand them (although that too is true), I have overheard locals not understanding each other's English.  And yet they shop in English, gossip in English, and discipline their children in English.  And they see no reason to do it any other way.  Some of them are absolutely baffled when someone we know wants her half-Chinese kids to learn Chinese and can't comprehend why we might be working so hard to make sure that Regin retains his father's language.

But what I want to know is, how to receive important maintenance instructions from the air con installers, or get any help from our night security guard without having a full-time, live-in translator in my employ?  Anyone know where I can pick up a C-3PO in Penang?